One of the few remarks extant made by Goldsmith during his tour is the following, of whimsical import, in his Animated Nature.
“In going through the towns of France, some time since, I could not help observing how much plainer their parrots spoke than ours, and how very distinctly I understood their parrots speak French, when I could not understand our own, though they spoke my native language. I at first ascribed it to the different qualities of the two languages, and was for entering into an elaborate discussion on the vowels and consonants; but a friend that was with me solved the difficulty at once, by assuring me that the French women scarce did anything else the whole day than sit and instruct their feathered pupils; and that the birds were thus distinct in their lessons in consequence of continual schooling.”
His tour does not seem to have left in his memory the most fragrant recollections; for, being asked, after his return, whether traveling on the Continent repaid “an Englishman for the privations and annoyances attendant on it,” he replied, “I recommend it by all means to the sick, if they are without the sense of smelling, and to the poor, if they are without the sense of feeling; and to both, if they can discharge from their minds all idea of what in England we term comfort.”
It is needless to say that the universal improvement in the art of living on the Continent has at the present day taken away the force of Goldsmith’s reply, though even at the time it was more humorous than correct.
CHAPTER THIRTY
DEATH OF GOLDSMITH’S MOTHER—BIOGRAPHY OF PARNELL—AGREEMENT WITH DAVIES FOR THE HISTORY OF ROME—LIFE OP BOLINGBROKE—THE HAUNCH OF VENISON
On his return to England, Goldsmith received the melancholy tidings of the death of his mother. Notwithstanding the fame as an author to which he had attained, she seems to have been disappointed in her early expectations from him. Like others of his family, she had been more vexed by his early follies than pleased by his proofs of genius; and in subsequent years, when he had risen to fame and to intercourse with the great, had been annoyed at the ignorance of the world and want of management, which prevented him from pushing his fortune. He had always, however, been an affectionate son, and in the latter years of her life, when she had become blind, contributed from his precarious resources to prevent her from feeling want.
He now resumed the labors of the pen, which his recent excursion to Paris rendered doubly necessary. We should have mentioned a Life of Parnell, published by him shortly after the Deserted Village. It was, as usual, a piece of job work, hastily got up for pocket-money. Johnson spoke slightingly of it, and the author, himself, thought proper to apologize for its meagerness; yet, in so doing, used a simile which for beauty of imagery and felicity of language is enough of itself to stamp a value upon the essay.